


Life, Business, Everything

by kirja_rouva



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Morning After, Peaky Blinders - Freeform, Pregnancy, Series 1, Series 2, Series 3, Sexual Content, series 3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirja_rouva/pseuds/kirja_rouva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots that should eventually come together to tell the story of Tommy and Grace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How can I tell him?

After their breathing had slowed and their heart rates began their own rhythms Grace looked back over at Tommy. His face was close to hers; her bed was narrow so she felt every line of his body against hers. She watched his face arrange itself into a soft, relaxed smile. His eyes were clearer than she’d ever seen them, robbed of the darkness that so often sat in them.

“Are you okay?” she heard herself saying.

“I don’t hear the shovels against the wall,” he murmured to almost himself, she couldn’t be sure she heard him properly.

“What shovels?” 

He looked down at her. “Will you help me?"

“Help you with what?”

“Everything,” he replied. _Life, business, everything._

That was as close as Tommy Shelby would ever come to admitting any sort of vulnerability, any sentimental feeling outside of family. To be included in that small circle warmed Grace more than anything else in her life. She hadn't been loved in years, and to be loved by this distant, typically cold, man shone like an unlikely beacon of hope in the darkness that was her life.

“Everything,” she repeated as her assent. And she meant it; this wasn’t a play to get even closer-she was already closer than anyone. She felt the knot that was her secret in her stomach tighten infinitesimally at the remembrance of her betrayal, though she pushed it down with thoughts of _I didn’t mean it, I didn’t know_.

When she’d accepted Campbell’s assignment, she’d had no idea of the man she was to observe and pick for information. No, she’d expected to clean out a den of IRA sympathisers, not charming gangsters. And another part of her worried for Tommy. How had he not seen the traitor in his midst? How had he taken a quisling into his arms and into bed? It proved to her that he didn’t know her at all, and that he would be more than a little disappointed to find that she was a spy, and he would find out. Either she would tell him, or Campbell would in a fit of rage, or he’d simply find out, as was his way. She knew that she would have to be the one to tell him, and tell him she would—soon.  _I’ll tell him tomorrow, I’ll tell him before Kimber and his men get to him_ , she thought to herself as she watch him drift deeper into sleep.

 _You should wake him and tell him right now_ , the more realistic and less sentimental part of her said. The part that pulled triggers and fooled men into thinking that she was in love with them to get her own way.

The newly discovered part of her that desperately wanted Tommy Shelby’s love rebelled against that thought. _Just give me one pleasant night with him._

They laid there for hours or minutes, Grace couldn’t tell. She closed her eyes and focussed on the feeling of Tommy’s fingers on her skin, tracing circles on the skin of her back. She rubbed her hand across his chest, feeling the muscle and scars there. There were more scars on his chest than there were on his back, Death wanted this man for himself, and yet Tommy Shelby had managed to stay free. She felt that it was her responsibility to keep him alive, as she had put his life in danger. She knew that more than likely more scars would be collected tomorrow when they went against Billy Kimber and his gang. With these thoughts she watched Tommy slowly drift to sleep beside her. She stayed awake until she heard the clock in the distance chime three. Assuring herself that no one would bother them she allowed herself to fall asleep on his chest, blissful and dreadful. Warm lips on her shoulder woke her up the next morning. With a pleased moan she rolled onto her back and looked up through blurry eyes at Tommy, who was propped up on one elbow looking down at her.

“Good morning,” she whispered up at him, against his lips.

“Good morning,” he replied, running a hand through her hair, smoothing away any knots.

That’s all they said for the next half hour as they rolled and slid over each other. Occasionally Tommy’s name escaped Grace’s lips, and she heard her own groaned into her neck. Still, they were quiet in their love making, drawing no attention from the neighbours, keeping this moment just to themselves. Of course, this is what the whole of the Garrison had probably assumed would happen when Grace had led Tommy out the back by the hand, but they wouldn’t ever know for sure. Gasping in unison, they both fell over the edge and lay beside each other, stunned with ecstasy. Grace laced her fingers with Tommy’s and raised his hand to press her lips against it. _Now’s the time, you have to tell him now._ But Tommy had rolled to his feet and was digging through his clothes that had been discarded on the floor in their haste last night for his watch. She raised herself up on one elbow and watched his naked body navigate her small room.

He was all muscle, hard from the inside out, hard enough to take punches and bullets. Part of her wondered if he would be wounded if he were to be shot, so impervious he appeared. “It’s nearly eight,” he said, glancing up at her as he pulled his pants on and then his trousers. When Grace didn’t move he threw her knickers and brassiere over to her. Silently she shrugged the brassiere on and synched it tightly against her spine. Shivering, she threw the blankets off and stepped into her knickers and started rolling her stockings over her legs. From a trunk she removed a fresh skirt and blouse.

Smoothing the wrinkles out as best as she could, she shrugged them on. With her blouse still unbuttoned, she crossed over to Tommy and started buttoning his shirt up for him. He smiled down at her, at this small act of tenderness and domesticity. Though he was a stranger to lasting relationships, he recognised this as something that people who cared for one another did. His fingers brushed her wrist as she finished up and travelled up her arm until he reached her throat. After pressing a soft kiss against her forehead, just over the gash there, he began buttoning her blouse for her. When he was done and after they had gathered their things about them Grace offered to make him breakfast.

“You never did get to have that tea,” she said almost shyly.

He smiled at the memory of the previous night. “I just said yes to impress you, I don’t usually drink tea.”

“I could make you some toast,” she offered.

“No, we’ll eat at the Garrison. I’m calling a meeting there this morning. Come on, I’ll walk you to work.” He offered her his arm and escorted her out of her little flat and out into the street. She felt as though the eyes of the entire city was on them, probably staring at the sight of Thomas Shelby, most feared man in the metropolitan area and beyond, walking his barmaid down the street. Knowing that this was probably a first for him as well, she lifted her chin and smiled up at him. They had changed each other, neither would ever be the same after this.


	2. Away It Goes

She’d waited all day in her room to hear the news, trembling on her thin cot that she and Tommy had laid in not long before. Soon enough she heard: the Peaky Blinders had won! Tommy Shelby had shot Billy Kimber dead, and taken a bullet too, but word was the bullet bounced right off of him and now he was celebrating his victory with his gang and family.

She sighed a sigh of relief that seemed to last until evening. It flowed steadily out of her and filled up the entire room until it spilled out into the streets. And then…there he was, standing in her doorway, a bloody bandage wrapped around his torso, peeking out from his coat. The cerise stain seemed to wink at her: _you’re the reason I’m here; you’re the reason Tommy was shot._

Tommy’s sky-blue eyes swept over her room, noting her pack trunks and travelling dress. “Everyone’s leaving town,” he remarked.

“Tommy, you’re hurt,” she murmured, starting towards him.

“I am fine,” he said, his voice and demeanor very still. It was enough to make Grace still as well.

_I am fine; I don’t need you to patch me up. I’ve had my own men do that for me because of you. There’s nothing to say._

“What can I say?” Grace said, she didn’t really ask. He didn’t know, and neither did she.

“I think I know who you are. And you know who I am.”

_Well you’ve seen me._

_And you’ve seen me._

He said the same things he had said to her at the pub that morning, that he was beginning a legal business, all the while drawing closer and closer to her. There’d be no need for guns; he’d throw his in the cut one day.

“Why not now?” Grace found herself asking. He was so close; she could almost feel her future with him. He was close enough to touch, but she didn't dare close the distance. He did, though. He reached across and held her chin in his hand. She saw the softness in his eyes again, she saw the love.

“Here it comes, Tommy: I love you,” she whispered.

“And there it goes, Grace. Away it goes.”

All the breath in her chest whooshed out silently. Of course he didn’t love her, he’d come here to say good-bye, possibly to even kill her. He didn’t know who she was; he thought that she was the barmaid, sleeping information out of him. She knew exactly who he was: gangster, lover, fierce protector, ambitious—and of course he wouldn’t want the woman who had betrayed him, even though she loved him enough to erase her old life and start a new one. But still, she had to try. She couldn’t let go of this glimmer of a new life.

She proffered him a letter. “I’ll be in London one week. At this address. Finish your business here and join me, I have an idea.”

And that was it. He took the letter and slumped out her door, and she had a funny feeling that that was the last she’d see of him again.

 

 

*

 

All she saw on that train platform as Campbell fairly brandished his gun at her was Tommy’s retreating back, walking along behind Campbell. She thought that maybe if that bullet resting in the chamber of Campbell’s gun made its way into her heart she’d be able to follow Tommy, see where he was going. And there it goes, Grace. Away it goes. She raised her shiny black purse and shot right into Campbell’s chest, planting a red flower there right in that stupid chest. As he fell back onto the platform she stepped onto the whistling train, leaving his pathetic body to soak into the dusty stones and be shrouded by the hot steam that was taking her away.

_I'll be in London one week. One week only. After that, I'm gone, I'm leaving. I'll be in America if you want me, but Grace Burgess waits for no man and she sure as hell won't wait for a man who doesn't want her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, world! I'm really excited to be contributing some work for the Grace/Tommy ship--there simply isn't enough out there. I hadn't really expected to write more than one chapter, but I suppose the muse has struck me. I'd really appreciate your comments, I live off of constructive criticism and encouragement. Let me know what you want to see, what you want to hear. Definitely let me know if I've got any of my facts mixed up as well.


	3. The Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace thinks back on the last evening she and Tommy spent together before he found out her secret.
> 
> Warning: Slightly more mature material in this chapter.

Grace felt strangely calm as the train carried her through the night to London. Only moments before she had shot Campbell, probably shot him dead, and had come close to getting shot herself. Calm as she was, she couldn't relax against the third-class seats in the carriage she shared with one other woman who was engrossed in some cheap novel. This shooting business directly effected her plans, and would force her to rush them. She would no longer be able to stay in London a whole week before crossing to America. No, she would have to alter everything, especially if she were to meet Tommy--though a part of her whispered that that was never going to happen.

_Tommy..._

She leaned her forehead against the window and watched her breath fog up the glass. Through the haze she could see the city of Birmingham race away from her, probably forever. When she'd arrived she'd thought it a dirt depraved place, full of nothing but villainy, but oh how she'd give anything to have license to return to it. Closing her eyes she thought back to the previous evening: her last  _real_ evening.

 

*

 

A fight broke out at the Garrison, nothing unusual when a Shelby wasn’t around. Two men started scrapping over the results of a football match and then two more pitched in and so on.

“Go on,” Harry said to Grace. “Sing until they stop, sing until they cry.” He and a few others leapt into the fray, breaking the men up. It had been a lie, what she’d told Harry about her singing in Dublin, but she hoped that it would somehow become true. As she made her rounds through the bar, refilling drinks and collecting garbage, she sang softly and clearly an old Scottish ballad that she’d learnt from her mum. Sure enough, a verse in, the fighting calmed and then ceased and the pub was quieter than it had been before. Still she sang until the song was done and everyone’s eyes were on her.

“Another,” a gruff voice from the back of the pub called out.

“Aye, another,” an equally gruff voice requested.

With a small smile she began again, this time an Irish love song, one about love lost. It was about a boy whose love had died young and who remained by her grave every night. It seemed appropriate considering the fact that Inspector Campbell was undoubtedly digging up the guns in Danny Wiz-bang’s grave, and that Tommy would surely never forgive her when he found out it was she who told him.

As she finished the final verse, she spotted Tommy in the doorway, staring at her. Her pulse quickened: equal parts apprehension and excitement. _Did he know about the guns yet? Did he know it was her? Did he simply want to listen to her sing?_ She assumed the latter, judging from the fact that he hadn’t cleared the pub yet—or shot her point blank.

The silence after her singing was almost deafening, compounded by the fact that Tommy Shelby—the wolf—was in their midst. Grace ducked her head and moved back behind the bar with Harry and fetched some whisky for Tommy. Slowly, the conversations and general cacophony resumed and reached their usual dull roar.

 

*

 

One by one the patrons of the Garrison filtered out onto the gas lit street, even Harry left early—leaving Grace with the clutter pub to deal with. With a frustrated sigh she crossed to the entryway and locked the front doors behind the last customer and jumped when she heard the door to the private room by the bar swing open. It was Tommy Shelby who had emerged from that room. _How long had he been in there?_ Grace had assumed that he’d left hours ago.

“Tommy,” she breathed. “Sorry, I didn’t realise that you were still here.” She moved towards the doors to unlock them.

“Need some help?” he asked, effectively stopping her in her tracks. He gestured to the room. “This is enough work to keep you all night.”

“I don’t mind it,” Grace demurred.

“Well it isn’t right for Harry to leave you here all alone at night,” he continued, slowly stepping towards her. “So I think I’ll stay until you’re done.” They were almost nose-to-nose now. “Just in case.”

Grace felt her face go hot and her body thrum hotly in this close proximity. “I don’t really have much to do,” she murmured, looking at his mouth. “Just some dishes.”

She barely got the words out as he lips covered hers, soft at first and then urgent and hard. She felt an arm around her waist and a hand in her hair, pulling her closer and closer. Tilting her head to deepen the kiss, she gently pushed him back and down into a chair, quickly following and lowering herself onto his lap.

He made a noise deep in his throat and raked a hand up and down her body, their kiss growing more feral. Grace tangled her fingers in his hair and pushed her hips against his, eliciting another groan from Tommy. Dragging her hands down to his throat she shakily began to undo the buttons of his shirt and vest. Evidently surprised at her initiative, it took him a moment to respond. She'd completely undone the front of his clothes and pushed his shirt, vest, and jacket off his shoulders and down his arms. He shook off the layers before attacking her blouse, undoing it even faster than he had last time and dropped it on the floor to rest with his growing pile of clothes. 

Bare chested they lunged at each other again, all lips and fingernails. Breaking their kill Tommy managed to gasp out: "I want you, Grace. Now."

"Right here?"

"Right here," he affirmed.

Grace looked into his eyes, his pupils had almost completely swallowed up his pale blue irises. With a coy smile she climbed out of his lap long enough to slide off her boots, stockings, and knickers. Exhaling, she undid his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, revealing the strained fabric of his pants. Climbing into his lap again she leaned in close until her lips brushed his.

"Your turn," she whispered.

He responded by pressing his left hand against her lower back, she felt his fingers dip beneath the waistline of her skirt, and pulling her against his waiting mouth. As he kissed her she felt his hand under the blanket of her skirt, freeing himself. She gasped and grew still as she felt his length press against her though. He paused as well and looked into her eyes, waiting for a signal of assent.

Grasping his shoulder with one hand she lowered herself onto him, feeling every inch slide into place. Both of them exhaled at the contact and shifted until they were both comforted. Tommy placed a hand on the back of Grace's neck and leaned in to gently kiss her. Smiling against his mouth she flexed her internal muscles experimentally. With a loud groan Tommy wound his fingers in a handful of her hair and snapped his hips up, pushing deeper into her. With a gasp she pulled back and mirrored his motion.

Back and forth, back and forth until they settled on their own rhythm. A moment, or several, later Tommy got to his feet, supporting Grace under her thighs with his strong hands and deposited her messily on a table. Before he climbed back on top of her she caught a glimpse of his face and an almost panicked look of need was painted across it.

"Tommy--"

"It's fine," he grunted, sliding back into her. "It's just--" He thrust roughly. "It's just--It could be the--"

He stopped, but she understood. He was going up against King Billy Kimber tomorrow, and while he was fairly certain that they'd win, there was the real possibility that he'd never come back. This could be the last--

Pushing that thought away, she pushed her hips forward a bit. "Better make the most of it, then."

The fire was back in his eyes again, and with a determined glint in his eyes he matched their previous pace and rhythm. Grace stifled a moan as he changed his angle, arching her head and back against the table. Though it was late, there was the chance that someone would hear and guess what was happening, the Shelby brothers certainly already suspected. She pushed those thoughts away as she felt that glorious pressure building inside her, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Sensing that she was close, Tommy adjusted his angle again and trailed kisses down her throat and across her chest. A marvellous wave rolled over Grace, stunning her and dragging her down deep. "Oh, Thomas," she moaned. "Ahhh, _Tommy._ " And that was enough for him.

"Grace," he gasped, thrusting into her once more before collapsing on top of her. He was heavy, muscle and bone, but Grace didn't mind the weight, it was comforting. Lazily, she ran her fingers through the crop of hair on top of his head, twisting it in her fingers and letting it fall against her face. Once their breathing had slowed he shifted his weight onto his elbows so that she could inhale again, but still look at him. He brushed a damp curl out of her face with a tenderness that was uncharacteristic of him. She smiled at the look in his eyes that she was fairly certain she had placed there, and brushed fingers across his sharp cheekbones.

With a blink the moment was over, and Tommy stood up and began to dress. She brushed the dust off of her clothes and began dressing as well. Running a hand through her hair, she made her way to the bar where all the dirty glasses were piled.

"I'll talk to Harry about hiring someone to do the cleaning," Tommy said, depositing a few tumblers in the sink. "You're a bookkeeper, not a common kitchen hand."

"I don't think that the Garrison can handle another employee at the moment," Grace murmured. "I've come across several overdue bills and Arthur seems to think that the till here is his wallet."

"After tomorrow that won't be a problem anymore," Tommy said shortly, and they both went silent at that.

They finished the washing quietly together and Tommy put up the chairs on the tables while Grace swept. 

_Oh how everyone in town would chuckle to see Tommy Shelby helping clean_ , Grace thought. One of the chairs Tommy put up exposed the faintly darker stain of the IRA man's blood and Grace shuddered involuntarily as she swept over it. Tommy noticed and his face went grim again, he seemed about to say something important, but instead said: "Gather your things, I'll walk you home."

 

He didn't come up that evening, saying something about a meeting in the morning, but he did take her face in his hands and kiss here there on her doorstep. She wanted him to come up, if only to have a comforting presence through the night. Now she wished she had suggested going to his rooms, but they were clear across town and he look tired.

"Good night, Tommy," she said.

He kissed her once more. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Grace?"

"Yes. Of course, Tommy."

 

*

 

She chuckled wryly against the window, he had seen her that night--seen her for what and who she was. She stood as the train started slowing to a stop and stepped off onto the platform as soon as it had reached a safe enough speed. This next week would seal her fate as far as Tommy Shelby was concerned.


	4. Tell Him The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace and Tommy see each other for the first time in two years. (Obviously there are a lot of spoilers for season 2 in here, so don't read if you don't want it spoilt.)

As Grace hung up the phone she felt a chill of doubt or worry pass through her. Tommy had sounded distant through the line, seemed reluctant to see her, but had arranged a meeting all the same. She had known it was him earlier—the call her husband said got cut. Perhaps he was cold because of the man’s voice that answered, and there was a part of her that couldn’t blame him. She took comfort in his willingness to set aside a few hours for her, it seemed a good omen. Tommy didn’t owe her anything , and he didn’t seek out those he had nothing to do with.

 _But you owe him. You’ve accrued a lot of debt from Thomas Shelby. Possibly your life belongs to him still,_ the snide voice of two years ago murmured. She shook it off as she applied powder to her face and checked her shorn hair. Her American hair.

Yet again she found herself wishing that he’d come to America with her, or that she hadn’t gone alone. It was no easy life for a single Irish woman there—she’d been lucky a kind, well-off man had shown interest in her. In the end, marriage had been her only route: there wasn’t much work for (former) agents of the Crown in the USA; it was the only choice at the end of waiting in vain for Tommy to show up in a cloud of smoke and soot. Her husband appeared in the room just as she was finishing up, wearing a dressing gown and smiling good-naturedly. She felt a pang watching him watch her, why didn’t feel the same things for each other?

She fussed with her hair as he regarded her, and answered his inane questions and remarks with her usual shy smile. As she rose to exit the room she wondered if and when he would know of her betrayal and what he would do if he knew where she was really going, who she was really seeing. She had become proficient in betraying the men in her life and had so far escaped each catastrophe unscathed (barely). She wondered if things would end up badly this time.

With one last demure smile at her husband, she left the room and quickly descended the stairs to the main lobby. A lobby boy hailed a cab for her and in another moment she was giving the driver the address Tommy had sent by telegram earlier. She didn’t know how he’d known her whereabouts, or that her husband wouldn’t be around to intercept the missive. It also instructed her to wear a nice dress for the evening. It all reminded her of Epsom and Billy Kimber, but she shook that sour memory off. As the cab pulled away from the kerb, she allowed herself to relax for the first time since arriving in England. She was back home, back with her people. Poughkeepsie wasn’t anything like London, or even Birmingham, certainly not Dublin. Her old life still held more appeal, even with all the luxuries she now had.

Before she could really lose herself in the sights of London at night, the cabbie was stopping across from row houses in Primrose Hill. She leaned forward and paid him before stepping out of the cab and onto the sidewalk. It was certainly a nice part of London, not Kensington, but miles better than his quarters in Birmingham, which she’d only glimpsed from the outside. She saw a young man carrying a case exit the house Tommy had directed her to, and she turned her head so that she might be recognised, though she didn’t believe that she had ever seen him before. Of course Tommy’s house would also operate as a business, Shelby homes weren’t meant just for living, you had to be making money at the same time.

When the young man was out of sight, she crossed the street and rang the bell with more conviction than she felt. To her surprise, Tommy answered the door—not a maid or a butler—and wordlessly ushered her in. At the same time it made sense, Tommy didn’t have the time to vet people who weren’t family, and would therefore handle simple tasks like answering the door himself. As the door clicked shut, she felt him approach her from behind and lighted rest his hands on her shoulders. “May I take your coat?” he murmured. She shrugged it off in response and watched as he hung it on a stand in the hall. He then directed her to a door and escorted her into a well-appointed sitting room with a warm fire already blazing in the grate. For a moment she imagined him kneeling in front of it earlier, coaxing the flames along so that they’d have light and warmth.

“Is this your house?” she found herself asking, it seemed so odd a place for Tommy to reside in.

“Yes,” was the quick answer. He made his way to a chair on the far side of the room, and she sat herself opposite with a table and the fire between them. He seemed disinclined to say anything else on the matter.

“Do I not get a drink?”

Again, a short answer: “Please.” He lit a cigarette and took a puff.

She rose and crossed to a drink table and turned her head towards him. “Do you want one? Still whiskey?”

“Yes.” She poured them each a measure. “Some things have changed,” she remarked. “I saw vans with your name on them at the wharf.” She crossed over to him and handed him his drink, taking her seat now on the sofa diagonally from him.

“Yes, some things have changed,” he agreed.

She couldn’t tell if he was glad to see her, or doing this grudgingly. He seemed incapable of stringing together meaningful sentences. She decided to try a different tack, get to the matter that was certainly on their minds. “Tommy, I really wasn’t sure about coming tonight—”

He seemed happy to interject with his own commentary now that the subject had been brought up. “I lit a fire in the bedroom upstairs. My plan was that we’d sit here for a while, talk about old times, drink some whiskey…” he paused and looked at her, making sure his next words rang true “Then I was gonna tell you that I hadn’t spent a day without thinking about you. And then we were gonna go upstairs and sleep together. But just now, on the way to opening the door…I changed my mind. So just have one drink, tell me how happy you are in New York, and then you can go.”

She hadn’t expected such a speech from Thomas Shelby, and was both surprised and angered at it. However, she managed a rather neutral: “You changed your mind?”

He hummed an affirmative. “So you can go.”

She felt a wave of anger wash over her at his arrogance. He could not summon her and dismiss her like a king with his vassal. She was his equal, she was a respected woman, she knew how to handle Thomas Shelby. “Well… As a matter of fact, I am happy in New York. And I am married.”

“Yeah, he’s rich. I know,” was the maddening reply, as though that was all Grace could be motivated by. At the same time he questioned her depth, he diminished what had existed between them to a power-hungry girl losing her footing and running away. 

“And he’s sweet, and he’s kind to me. So what makes you think I would’ve gone to bed with you after _one_ whiskey and some conversation?” she flashed back.

“I was accounting for three whiskeys,” he replied nonchalantly.

“How dare you?” she demanded with quiet fury.

“Doesn’t matter now ‘cause I’ve changed my mind—”

“I came here because you asked me,” Grace managed, taking a steadying drink from her whiskey. She wasn’t sure how she had planned for this night to go, but it certainly wasn’t following either of their expectations.

“Even though he’s sweet and kind to you?” It sounded like a sickly sort of mantra, he was mocking the life he knew she would never be satisfied with, that she was stuck in.

“And now I feel like an idiot,” Grace finished, more to herself.

“Well, then, go.”

She muttered an expletive, and it felt nice to be coarse again. Americans were famous for their bluntness and crude behaviour, but it was exclusive to the men. As a woman of respectful standing, she was expected to conduct herself with decorum at all times, but Tommy brought out who she really was. They both drank and smoked in silence for a moment, and Grace fumbled with her purse.

“But you’re still here,” he observed, and she could tell it had less to do with her being physically near and more about what they had been to each other.

“Are you so certain?” she returned, fixing her mask of neutrality back in place.

“That you’re still in love with me?” Thomas clarified bluntly. He seemed to pause, at a loss for words. “I was…but I’m not anymore.” Another pause, then: “You’re not armed, Grace, are you?”

Grace narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I’m not armed,” she retorted. “I don’t carry guns. I don’t have to.”

“You don’t have a sense of humour anymore either,” he said with a faint smile.

Grace still felt as though she was on the defensive. “What are you talking about?”

Tommy shrugged and swallowed the rest of his drink, set the empty glass down on a table, and stood to sit down next to her on the sofa. Her treacherous heart stuttered, waited for what he would do next. “Thing is,” he began, “I hate reunions. I didn’t want to sit here for hours talking about nothing, and dancing around what we really want to say. So now…I know you’re happy in New York, I know your husband’s rich, and sweet, and kind to you. I know you’re unarmed. And you didn’t come here for sex because you don’t love me anymore. And it’s only three minutes past.”

Grace listened, her heart thumping traitorously when he said that she didn’t love him anymore. He stood again and crossed over to the drinks. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, and she realised he’d offered her another drink. His eyes were warm again. “It’s good to see you, Grace.”

Now that she was a woman who didn’t love Tommy, at least in his own eyes, she felt she had the courage to ask “So, you didn’t light the fire?”

He ignored that and continued with his line of thought. “You see, my real plan was that we go out. I want to impress you.”

 

_Are you trying to impress me?_

_Yes._

 

He was taking her to see Charlie Chaplin, not something particularly impressive, something she had done with her husband before, but she sensed that there was more to it. There was always more to it with Thomas. He helped her back into her coat and led her out to his car. With gentlemanly attention, he helped her in and shut the door behind her before climbing in himself and starting the car. She slipped her gloves on and looked over at him as they began to drive. They drove up to a building that Grace couldn’t help but notice didn’t have a marquee on the outside. _But then_ , she reasoned, _perhaps this is an exclusive viewing._ Inside, a clerk took their coats, and Tommy offered her his arm. As they entered a large room she heard jazz music playing.

“I thought you were taking me to see Charlie Chaplin,” she said, looking around for a room that looked like it could have a projector and screen inside.

“I am.” Another curt reply, but he seemed to be mildly amused.

“This isn’t a picture house,” she pointed out.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not a picture house.”

“So how will I see Charlie Chaplin?”

“You will see him and you will hear him, just like I promised.”

At the far end of the room he pointed out a man who could only be Charlie Chaplin, twitching and pulling faces to a group of people’s delight. Tommy explained how he knew him through a Romany gypsy friend and led her to the knot of people to introduce her. She felt his hand on her bare back as he pushed her up to Chaplin, and she smiled in delight as he took her hand. Only Tommy would arrange a night out like this. He left her for a moment, and she found herself completely at ease with these people. Chaplin was most attentive, and kept her laughing until Tommy returned, a smug sort of look on his face.

They both sipped champagne together, and gradually Grace observed Tommy unwind and relax with these people. Someone started playing music and the room began pairing up. Tommy pulled Grace close and they both gasped as their bodies came in contact. She felt his breath in her ear, and his hand gripping her waist. Despite the public location, she desperately wanted to tilt her face up and be kissed by him. They hadn’t danced since…since…

 

_It’s broken._

_We can still dance._

_Okay._

 

At a quarter to eleven they left the party, clinging to each other, hands exploring beneath each other’s coats. As soon as they were back in Tommy’s house they were at each other. With a moan, Grace allowed Tommy to press her up against a wall and kiss her. He trailed open mouth kisses down her throat and into the neckline of her dress. He gradually guided them into the sitting room where the fire still burned and put off heat. She was whispering his name between kisses, and trailing her fingers down his neck and to his collar, debating whether she wanted to start undressing him. Did she want this to go further?

“Tommy, do you have someone?”

He kissed her again, a non-answer.

“It’s too late, Tommy.”

He knew what she meant, but deliberately misunderstood. “It’s eleven, Grace.”

“I mean, it’s _too late_. If you’d come with me to New York…” her mind returned to the train of thought it had been on before she came.

“I had things to do,” he replied. A classic response, tailor-made to Tommy.

“You mean the coin landed the wrong way?” she translated.

“It couldn’t have worked,” he asserted in hushed tones, and she knew he was right. They both knew America wouldn’t have worked for them both.

She kissed him again, and this time it was a little harder, a little rougher. “Tommy, do you have someone?” she repeated, breaking away.

“I have a racehorse,” he answered, looking her straight in the eyes. “She’s going to win the derby.”

It seemed after that neither of them had the patience for any more words, they understood each other. They’d gotten all they were going to get out of each other. With steady fingers they began unfastening each other’s clothes. Grace’s dress was off her before she could get through half of his buttons, and he pushed her down onto the sofa. She pulled him on top of her and they rocked against each other as they kissed with messy precision. Between breaths she undid a button of his shirt, until she could push it off his shoulders. There were new scars on his body, and her fingers traced the bullet wound he'd gotten in his stand-off with Billy Kimber, the one that was completely her fault.

He seemed to sense her thoughts and kissed her so that she couldn't concentrate on anything else. Slowly she undid his trousers and pushed them down his hips. He kicked them and his underpants off and pressed himself against her. She gasped and clutched at him, almost dizzy with how much she wanted him. She'd missed this passion, she'd almost forgotten that it existed. Another moment later he paused and gazed down at her, apparently seeking her permission.

Unbidden, her mind turned back to her last appointment with the doctor, she heard him talking about her fertility, explaining that the next few days would be critical to conceiving a child. He had seemed certain that it was Grace's fault, and she believed that; of course it was her fault. There was no harm in letting Thomas inside her, she couldn't have a child. With a nod of her head and push of her hips against his, she gave him her answer. Not needing any more encouragement, Tommy pushed himself inside her with a groan.

Grace couldn't help but compare this with the last several times she'd lain with her husband. Tommy  _filled_ her, he involved her, they were together in this. They came together to fulfill each other, not to build something like a committee, all business-like and clinical. They moved together in sync, their breathing becoming more and more ragged as they strove to keep going. The minutes ticked by and they were lost to each other in the red dim room.

"Tommy," Grace whispered, and he thrust a little harder so that the end of his name became a moan. "Tommy, I'm close. Tommy, I'm--" but the rest of her thought was lost in another moan and he increased his pace.

She pulled back so that she could see his face, and they locked eyes as they fell over the edge together. They laid panting together for a while, until the clock struck half-past. Almost resignedly, they rose and began collecting their clothes from off the floor. Silently, they dressed beside each other, stuck in the after-glow of their performance and the gradual reality of their world twisting back in around them.

"I'll drive you," Tommy offered, and the absurdity of it all didn't escape either of them. Grace kept quiet, not trusting herself to speak. "When do you sail back?"

Grace replied that she didn't know yet as she readjusted the sleeves of her dress for the third time, unsure of what to do with her body now.

"You don't have a return ticket?" Tommy said almost incredulously, was it a bit hopefully?

"This wasn't right, Tommy," Grace replied, the words spilling out inelegantly. 

"When do you go back, Grace?" he pressed.

There was no avoiding this. She had to tell him why she was really here, in England. "They're doing tests on us. I don't know when they'll be finished. We're having treatment." She saw confusion, maybe concern cross over his face. She continued in choppy sentences, this was all so ugly and there was no way to make it sound less so. "A doctor in Harley Street. Some new thing: a breakthrough... We're trying for a baby."

There it was. The horrible thing that she didn't want to tell anybody, least of all Tommy. He dropped his face into his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly at a loss for words. She didn't know what to expect. Would he be angry? How would he display that? She looked away in disgust at herself. 

He reached for a lit cigarette and took a drag, staring down at the carpet. "Why did you come here tonight?" he asked, his brow deeply furrowed. He was disappointed, confused, hurt, angry, but quiet. 

Grace looked over at him, unsure of quite what to say, so she continued with her narrative. "The doctor thinks its surely me who's at fault."

Thomas shook his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and then sighed. "It's no one's fault."

"I'm tired of that, Tommy," she shot back, shoving down the well of torrential emotion those words called up.

He looked at her knowingly and ran his hand up and down her arm reassuringly. "Can I see you again? Grace..." When she didn't reply: "You still working under cover, eh?"

She responded to that quickly, with a slap across his face. He surely saw it coming, but allowed her to do it anyway. It was muted, born out of hurt rather than rage, and was more of a punctuation to her roiled emotions. 

"I have never lied to him once," she hissed, as if that badge would strike away her other misdeeds.

He looked at her and saw through it all. "So tell him the truth."

 

The drive back to the Ritz was quiet, but they held hands on the seat of the car. When he pulled up to the entrance, he squeezed her hand as he stepped out of the car and walked around to open her door. With the air of a perfect gentleman, he offered her his hand and helped her down, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and walked her up to the doors. Stopping, he pulled away, bowed and pressed his lips to her gloved hand.

"Good night, Grace."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I never update here, but until Series 3 premieres this is just the way it's going to be--  
> I don't want to do any sort of AU. If I've made any errors, please let me know. And, as always, comments are welcomed.


	5. Epsom, Derby Day

 

 Suddenly, there he was, it could only be him: the flat-cap, the hunched shoulders that looked like they were constantly carrying a terrible weight, the one and only Tommy Shelby. She headed straight to him and grabbed him by the elbow.

            “I have to talk to you,” she said in a low voice. He looked surprised and mildly annoyed.

            “Grace,” he said. “What are you doing here?” His eyes scanned her face, but she could see that his mind was running along several different tracks; she didn’t have his complete attention.

            “I have to talk to you,” she repeated, her unease growing.

            His attention was clearly invested on someone at the beginning of the queue. “Grace…” he stuck his cigarette in his mouth and then took her by the arms, leading her away. “This is not a good time.” He led her around a corner, through a small group of people and to a marginally secluded spot. Grace had the words on the tip of her tongue when he insisted: “Whatever it is, Grace, it’ll have to wait.”

            “I can’t wait,” Grace contended. “It wasn’t me who is at fault…I’m pregnant.” The tension in Tommy’s face didn’t ease, but Grace couldn’t stop there. “The baby is yours.”

            Tommy looked up, his mind clearly still partially focussed on the task she had interrupted. “But he’ll believe…” he gestured vaguely with his hand. “Make your husband believe that it is his.”

            His response confused her. “Is that what you want me to do?” she asked.

            Tommy was barely maintaining his composure now. “Grace, I seriously have things to do!” he said in a tense whisper.

            Would she always have the misfortune of coming to him when she really needed him right before a battle? His distraction and aloofness made her bite out her next words. “It’s not worth the toss of a coin this time?”

            “Grace, I have things to do,” he reiterated, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning in, as though she were the one on the brink of hysteria. “When they are—” there was a distant whistle that drew his eyes away briefly. “When they are done, I will decide.”

            “And when will that be?”

            “ _After_ the race.”

            “After the race?” she parroted back, astonished. “After the _fucking_ race, Tommy?”

            He could not be reasoned with, he was too wrapped up in what he had ahead of him. “When the race is over, I will decide what to do. What to fucking do, all right?”

            She was losing him; she could see him slipping away forever in that moment. “But Tommy…” She grasped his hands and looked deep into his eyes. “I was right not to tell him. I could have phoned him and lied…but I didn’t. Just tell me that I was right not to phone and lie! Agree with that, Tommy.”

            “Yes,” he said, and in that moment he was really with her. “Yes, Grace.”

            “Because the thing is…I love you. Not him.”

            “That is the thing,” he agreed.

            “A baby, Thomas,” she sighed, suddenly overcome by the real implications of that: of having Thomas Shelby’s child.

            “Yes,” he murmured, looking down, apparently dealing with the news as she was.

            She could let him go now. “Go to your race,” she said, and he was already three steps away, but he turned towards her all the same.

            “Where will you be?”

            “I’ll be waiting,” she said nodding to herself. “I’ll…I’ll wait where they lay their bets.”

           

*

 

The race was over, and the betting area was clearing out quickly, but still no sign of Tommy. Grace was beginning to worry, but not for herself: for Tommy. She knew that he had meant it when he said he would find her, but she also knew that he had been embroiled in some plot or another and that it could have easily gone badly for him. It was starting to feel like the day she waited to hear whether he had defeated Billy Kimber.

            She checked her watch again and then noticed a woman in a peculiar red dress enter the room. _Red dress at a_ race. Her interested was piqued when the strange woman casually crossed the floor to stand deliberately beside her.

            “I guessed and then John confirmed it,” the strange woman said.

            Grace turned to her with a wild questioning look in her eye; she was too preoccupied to suffer small talk. “Guessed what? Who are you?”

            “I’m May Carlton,” the woman replied, extending her hand in greeting, though her face contradicted any sort of warm sentiment. “I train Tommy Shelby’s horse…. And you’re the woman he said was going to sail away.” Grace scanned her face, still not able to piece together exactly who this woman was, besides a horse trainer. “I see he didn’t tell you about me. He did tell me about you, I wonder if that’s significant.”

            This May woman spoke calmly, but Grace could see a layer of hurt and jealousy slipping past her calm façade. It sounded sad: her deconstructing Tommy’s words in front of a woman she knew to be his old love. At the same time, it told Grace that this woman was her competition, this woman had a reason to be attached to Tommy—and he to her. Perhaps that was why he had appeared so distant earlier, and it wasn’t just her getting in the way of his plans.

            “Tell me _what_ about you?” Grace queried, her jaw set.

            “You have any idea where he is?” May asked instead, ignoring Grace’s question, as though Grace would actually tell her if she did know.

            Begrudgingly, Grace shook her head slightly and turned to face the other way. “I’m waiting for him here,” she said, scanning the room again hopelessly.

            “There’s been trouble on the track,” May remarked after a moment, and Grace’s mind flitted to the Peaky Blinders. “All the bookies have had their licenses burnt.”

            “Shouldn’t you be down with the horses?” Grace asked, agitated, as she turned to look down at the other woman.

            “It means they’ll have to reapply for their legal pitches,” May continued, as though this conversation were incredibly important. “It’s all part of Tommy’s plan for the future.”

            This was becoming maddening. “What do you know about Tommy’s future?”

            “The applications will be denied, of course. And all the pitches will be allocated instead to Tommy’s bookies.” She looked at Grace, a twinkle of victory in her eye. “I know because I’ll make sure of it. I have influence with the board.”

            “There’s business and there’s love,” Grace said, her eyes narrowed. She thought she felt something move deep within her, as though the child she and Tommy had made seconded that feeling.

            “ _Is_ there? With Thomas Shelby?”

           

_Will you help me?_

_With what?_

_Fucking life. Business. Everything._

            “What do you want from him?”

            “Same as you. I want to feel alive.” She looked at Grace almost pityingly, and turned to walk away.

            “Did he tell you my name?” she called out to the retreating May. When she turned to face her she continued: “My name is Grace.”

            May continued her retreat, and Grace was glad that she was gone, though the whole experience left her feeling mildly sick. It had been foolish of her to think that Tommy was solely hers for the taking, but he hadn’t said anything when she’d asked him if he had anyone. Instead he’d told her that he had a horse, and that day she found out that it’s name was _Grace’s Secret_.

           

A little while later the unmistakable sound a gunshot rang out—unmistakable to Grace, but to the other patrons it was explained away by their minds before they could process the sound. She kept still, not daring to turn around and see who’d done it for fear that it was Tommy, or any of the other Blinders. After a few breaths she allowed herself a glance, and thought she saw Polly making her way out, a bloom of red beneath her breast.

            Nervously, she drew a cigarette from her bag and lit it with trembling fingers. She took a drag before taking another look casually, and then returning her attention to the front of the room. In the phone booth she’d seen the crumpled form of an older man, his cane propped up in the corner, and people beginning to make their way over to investigate. Keeping her back firmly turned to the scene, she continued dragging at her fag, refusing to think about who it could be, though somehow she knew.

            Stubbing out the cigarette, she shook her head as she lit another one. It was typical of Tommy and his kin to commit murder or some other kind of violence at any event, yet she loved him. And yet she’d allowed their baby to grow inside her, not running off to one of those abortion women. She’d rather let Tommy’s child grow in her instead of Clive’s.

            _Poor fucking Clive_ , she thought almost ruefully. He’d been sleeping off the previous night’s hangover when she’d left—hours before the race. She couldn’t bear to face him on the day she would really and truly betray him. For the past two months, ever since they’d discovered that she was indeed pregnant, he’d been over the moon and very careful of her. The only thing that had kept him away from her at night was their doctor’s recommendation that he do so, so as to not interfere with the foetus in any way.

            After her fifth cigarette, feeling a bit light-headed, she exited the betting room and made her way outside. The air wasn’t much fresher or purer, but it was open and allowed the tightness of her chest to expand outwards. She decided to make her way down to the track, to where May had mentioned there had been trouble, she was sure to find one of the brothers there.

            Sure enough, in the distance she could see Arthur, shouting and gesticulating madly at anyone who would come near. He seemed unhinged, but John, who stood near him, seemed calm. Before she could move towards them, she felt a familiar grip on her arm and her blood ran cold.

            “Clive,” she said, turning to face her husband.

            His eyes were wild, his normally coiffed hair was in disarray, and he hadn’t even bothered to put on a tie or collar. The grip on her arm tightened, and for a split-second she wondered if he was going to strike her. She looked hurriedly over her shoulder, eyes searching for any of the Shelbys. John’s eyes met hers, and she managed a look of desperation before Clive dragged her off.

            “This way, _please_ , Mrs Macmillan,” he sneered in her ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in the update, this has been a delicate chapter. In the end, I decided to cut in half, the next half will deal with Grace and her husband after the race. Maybe Tommy will make an appearance. I'm assuming that this chapter takes place a couple (maybe three) months after the last one because how else would Grace know she was pregnant? If I've made an error, please let me know either here or on my tumblr: ildfull.tumblr.com


	6. A Shelby Effort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened between Epsom and the series 2 finale. What happened to Grace during Tommy's brief capture?

“It’s not mine!” Clive screamed at her, throwing a crumpled newspaper at her face. She flinched as it fell to the ground and flattened enough for her to see the picture of Tommy’s horse that had directed her to the races. Apparently it had directed her husband as well. He was manic, barreling around the room with the strength and energy of a man who was quite drunk. Rather than provoke him while she was at a disadvantage, she kept silence and trained her eyes on the newspaper at her feet.        “The baby,” Clive said, as if to clarify, shoving his face into her own. “It’s not mine, right?”       

“Clive, love,” Grace entreated. “Let’s try to talk about this calmly.”        

“No!” he bellowed, grabbing her by the shoulders and forcing her backwards until her back hit the wall rather roughly. She grunted and tried to wriggle free, but she felt as though she was made of glass now that she knew that life was growing within her. A fear that Clive would not only try to harm her, but the child as well, suddenly seized her and she stilled. “Tell me, tell me that it’s not mine.”       

“Clive—”       

But Clive seemed to change his mind and instead a dealt a blow across her face which she took as an opportunity to drop to the floor and curl herself into a ball.        Clive was pacing back and forth in the room, kicking at the furniture and luggage he had obviously upturned in a rage before going on to fetch her back. Grace scanned the room a bit desperately, looking for any means of defending herself or escaping. Warm tears of fear and anger escaped her eyes and she swallowed down a sob. She felt helpless. All her training, and she didn't know what to do against this man with a gun. As a woman, she hadn't been given the same hand-to-hand combat training as the male recruits, merely given a gun and shown how to use it. Once she had told Polly Shelby that she knew how to use her fists, and that was true, but not against a man more heavily armed than she. If only Tommy hadn’t been held up or abandoned her, she knew that she wouldn’t have been in this position if Clive had happened upon her in Tommy’s company. Even if Tommy had decided that he wanted nothing with her or their child, he wouldn’t have thrown her on the mercy of a drunken, violent man.       

“Part of me knew that the child wasn’t mine when the doctor said you were pregnant,” Clive was saying. “Nothing in our routine had changed, but I chalked it up to be a miracle. And when I questioned the doorman, he mentioned that you had returned one night in the company of Thomas Shelby. The name meant nothing to me at first, but on further enquiry I learned that he’s a notorious gangster. Obviously I’m not foolish to go up against a man like that with no real proof, but this morning the doorman said that you’d called a taxi to take you to Epsom. Guess whose horse I was reading about the other day?”       

“Stop it, Clive,” Grace managed. “None of that makes any sense. You’re deluding yourself.” Grace was prepared to separate herself completely from Tommy Shelby—if he wasn’t coming for her at the races, he wasn’t coming for her now—and she needed to do as Thomas suggested: make her husband believe that the child was his at the very least.        

Before he could reply or she could continue, there was a loud banging at the door and a familiar Brummie voice on the other side.       

“Oi!” Arthur Shelby called. “Is there any trouble in there?”       

Grace could have cried from relief.       

Just as her husband called out that all was fine, Grace screamed “Arthur! Help me, Arthur!”       

Enraged, Clive charged towards her and grasped her by her hair and yanked her upright while fumbling with a pocket inside his jacket until he produced a small pistol and pressed it to her temple. Tears rolled down Grace’s face as she heard him cocking it in her ear while Arthur was obviously hurling himself at the door.       

“Don’t do this, Clive,” she begged. “Please don’t do this.”       

With a yell and another bang the door sprang free from its hinges and Arthur burst into the room, hair falling about his face madly and his eyes just as crazed as her husband’s. He was quite high, but he was still a far more welcome sight.        

“Who are you?” Clive demanded. “Are you also fucking my wife?”       

“I’m Arthur,” Arthur Shelby supplied, casually reaching for a gun stashed in the waist of his trousers. “It’s my brother that has had the pleasure of Grace’s company, not me.”       

Clive gestured with his gun, granting Grace a brief reprieve. “This is private business, so I suggest you run along. This is between your brother and me.”       

“My brother has been unexpectedly detained, and I don’t know for how long, Now be a good chap and let the lady go, you’ve scared her out of her wits. Killing her won’t solve anything, what with you be a foreigner and all. Our coppers don’t take well to foreigners coming over and fucking with British citizens.”       

Shockingly, Clive seemed to be listening. The least likely of all the Shelby brothers to possess diplomatic skills seemed to be talking a murderous man down. As soon as her husband’s grip loosened on her, Grace ducked out of his grasp and dashed across the room until she stood beside Arthur. She grabbed his arm and said harshly, “Let’s go now.”       

Apparently open to suggestion, Arthur turned around and followed her out of the room. Looking back at the door, Grace saw her husband standing by the window, his gun hanging limply in his hand. The harshness in his eyes had been extinguished and here merely regarded her mournfully. “I’m sorry,” she managed. “But your life wasn’t right for me.”       

That seemed to stir Clive for a moment. “You’re a fool if you think that man will take you and your bastard child. No self-respecting man would associate himself with a woman like you.”       

Grace set her jaw and stared at him icily. “That may very well be true, but I’d rather face that eventuality than spend another moment with you.”       

Turning on her heel she raced down the hall with Arthur, taking the stairs instead of the lift. Once in the stairwell, he seemed to regain control, and steered her out through a side exit to where a gorgeous Bugatti motorcar was idling with John sitting idly in the driver’s seat. With an almost laughable attempt at gentility after the scene upstairs, Arthur handed Grace up and shut the door behind her.       

John nodded at her tightly and revved the engine before peeling out onto the street. Numbly, Grace sat back and watched London flash by her while the Shelby brothers stared ahead silently. As they drove away from the hotel, Grace thought that she heard the sound of gunfire. When they reached the city limits, Arthur turned around in his seat to look at her.       

“I take it you don’t know where Tommy is either?”       

For a moment unable to find words, Grace shook her head. Clearing her throat, she managed “I was waiting for him when Clive came and took me away.”       

“He didn’t look too friendly,” John supplied, turning his head a fraction to the side so that she could hear him. “Arthur suggested that we go after you just in case.”       

Grace laced her fingers together in her lap tightly and nodded. “Thank you,” she whispered.       

“No trouble, no trouble,” Arthur said gamely, reaching back awkwardly and patting her arm. “Is there anywhere we can take you?”       

Grace hadn’t considered where she would go next, she had no plan for that. If Tommy agreed to take her, she had assumed she would go off with him; if he rejected her, she had planned on returning to her husband who wouldn’t be the wiser. She hadn’t banked on Clive sussing her out, and was therefore at a loss.        

“I—I don’t know.”       

“We’ll take you with us then,” Arthur said, though it sounded more like a question. “And when Tommy comes around you two can have a little chat.” Clearly the Shelby brothers had some idea of of what was between her and their brother, but they only had a few more details than she did.

 

***

 

Grace caught her breath when they stopped at the Garrison. The outside was freshly re-done, and through the windows she could see that it was more full than it had ever been when she worked there. Fuck, it seemed like an age. John turned the car off and Arthur helped Grace out, still the picture of gentlemanly behaviour. He tucked her hand under his arm and led her into the noise and melee of what lay within. John had already shouldered his way through the crowd to the bar, and Arthur made his way there as soon as he'd ushered her into the room off the side of the bar. As he disappeared she saw his snort a white powder from a tin in his jacket pocket.

 _Snow. Cocaine._ It made sense.

The closed door didn't do much in the way of blocking noise, but it was a welcome change. Once someone opened the little doors in the wall between the room and behind the bar and handed her a bottle of Irish whiskey and a tumbler. With a nod and murmur of thanks, the door was shut and the party continued. Sitting back in the corner of the room, next to the window, Grace nursed her first glass of whiskey, glad of its stabilising properties. She had regained her nerves and was now more angry than anything else. She was angry that she had allowed herself to be led into a helpless position, angry that she had had to rely on wildcards like Arthur and John to get her out, and angry that she had made herself vulnerable to a man who hadn't met her as he'd promised.

Her left hand, heavy with the weight of her wedding ring, clutched at her belly that was starting to barely swell while her right hand grasped the bottle of whiskey and poured another draught. She took a shaky drink as the door of the room banged open and then shut. With a strangled scream Grace hurled the glass at the intruder who ducked as he raced over to her.

"Grace," the voice she'd been waiting all day for said. Familiar hands grasped her own and forced them into her lap. "Grace."

Outside someone drove by and the headlights shone into the room, briefly illuminating a gash about his right eye and a bloodstain on his collar. "Tommy," she whispered, struggling free to brush at the wound. Tommy gazed back at her with that level look in his eye, a look that said that there was nothing that could disturb or shake him.

"Grace," he said again, leaning in as he pressed his lips against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! More updates will be on the way what with the premiere of Series 3 (is anyone else worried about Grace's role in this newest series?). It was a lot of fun to play with the dynamic between Grace and Arthur, who I've always felt Grace would get along with best out of the Shelbys (with the exception of Tommy, of course).
> 
> Please let me know what you think and if I got anything wrong. The timeline is sometimes hard to suss out in this show, so if I've made any errors, I'd like to know.
> 
> Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions are greatly appreciated.
> 
> And, if you'd like to go the extra mile, you can say hullo at ildfull.tumblr.com


	7. A Cursed Sapphire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grace's final appearance in series 3, and the conclusion of this story.

Grace sat in front of her vanity, a vague smile on her face and a faraway look in her eyes, her fingers absently tracing over the massive sapphire resting just above her heart. Tommy hadn’t changed after their marriage became official (they had seen one another as man and wife the moment she left Clive), and she hadn’t really believed he would. That was Tommy, and she was resigned to it. He still managed to make up for it. Just when she thought he was slipping from her grasp, he would return bearing gifts and affection. The sapphire was one of the more extravagant favors he had presented to her, but she’d learned to smile and not ask any questions.  
  
Her fingers slid from the magnificent gem and ghosted across the silky material of her dress. She had spent weeks planning this gala, throwing her whole heart into it. Tommy made a point of not involving her in his business, but this was one endeavor he had agreed to let her in on and she’d thrown herself into it wholeheartedly. Being married to a gangster that was trying to reinvent himself in the eyes of the gentry was difficult, but not more than being associated with a plain gangster. There had certainly been excitement those times when she was a barmaid at the Garrison, those nights when Tommy would stride in with a wild look in his eyes like a spooked horse, asking for her help. No, demanding. And she’d been happy to comply, she’d preferred the excitement he provided to the intrigue Campbell had promised.  
  
Her thoughts wandered along that vein for a while, and she remembered a rainy evening in Birmingham years ago. The night Tommy had rushed into the bar after hours and hurriedly told her of the men coming to kill him before placing a pistol in her hand and instructing her on how to use it—oh he’d truly had no idea. That was night she knew that she was completely gone: she’d killed for Thomas Shelby, and she knew she’d do it again if necessary. It had frightened her, but it had frightened him as well. He thought he’d convinced an innocent woman to take a life for him, but he’d really made her a turncoat. Which was more damning? She supposed he looked back at it now as a small victory.  
  
  
The humming of one of Tommy’s Bugatti’s pulling in front of the house pulled her from her reverie. Checking her appearance in the mirror one last time, she rose and left her bedroom. Before descending she crept into Charles’ room and planted a soft kiss against his forehead. With an indulgent smile she backed out of the room and made her way downstairs and to the front of the house. The driver was standing by the car and opened the door as she approached, silently handing her in and shutting the door behind her. They exchanged no words, he knew where to go. Grace pulled her furs closer around her as they set off into the evening.  
  
  
So far the gala was going quite well. Tommy wasn’t yet present, but that didn’t matter, she could handle herself. She was far and away more charming than Tommy, and knew that many of these people had come for her alone. At different intervals she would brush up against other members of the Shelby kin. Polly was looking very fine in an old fashioned dress, but she managed to look regal and as though she belonged. She looked like a queen. One day she would win that woman back over again, one day she would prove herself worthy of the Shelby name. John and Arthur looked like dogs on leashes, bound up and anxious to be let loose.  
  
An accented voice speaking her name drew her attention and she turned to see an elegant young woman who introduced herself as Princess Tatiana Petrovna, an impressive title. With a warm smile Grace engaged her in conversation, her senses tensed. Somehow she suspected this woman to connected to Tommy’s recent business dealings, perhaps this would be a way to find out more. And then as though he were called, Tommy appeared at her side. Like Arthur and John he seemed restrained in his fine suiting, but he managed to look as though he were bearing it. Grace watched as she introduced him to the Russian princess and her suspicions were confirmed: they were linked somehow, and it wasn’t a cordial acquaintance.  
  
Before she could discover more she was called away. Mildly frustrated that she wouldn’t be able to observe Tommy’s interactions with the princess Tatiana, she allowed herself to be pulled into the crowd with a dazzling smile on her face. It was almost a fun game, charming the wealthy aristocrats and bureaucrats, and she was getting more and more adept at it. She allowed herself to be pulled with the tide of people until she was again in front of Tommy, whose mood had greatly changed. He seemed agitated, his arms were tense as he held onto her and he spoke in rough hushed tones. She could sense a scene brewing and kept a smile on her face, nodding at people passing by.  
  
He was begging her to take off the sapphire, which perplexed and amused her. Something about a curse? The gypsy would never go away, and she loved him for it. She spoke to him in soothing tones, told him that she loved him as he pulled her close and kissed her. It filled her with warmth, this is all she wanted. She wanted to be here, doing Tommy’s work with him, surrounded by all the posh people of the land and not caring a fig for any of them. For a moment her world was golden and rosy, until the second it wasn’t. She knew how to spot a gunman just as well as Tommy, and they saw the man charging towards them through the crowd together.  
  
Grace was nebulously aware of Tommy raising his hand in front of her, as though he could stop a bullet. (hadn’t he before? Hadn’t he stopped many bullets?) But everyone has their failings, and Tommy’s was that he couldn’t deflect the bullet that struck her in her chest. The roar of the gun was all she heard, she didn’t think she made a sound. Perhaps it hadn’t been the gun, perhaps it was Thomas’ voice in her ears. She let herself fall back into her arms, and felt that he was lowering her to the ground. That was good, she didn’t want to stand. The room was nearly empty, cleared of all the people she had meticulously brought together. It was just as well, all she could see was Tommy’s face. Was that Polly next to them now? Some screamed for an ambulance, and Grace was grateful. She’d seen the bullet wound on Tommy’s chest where Billy Kimber had shot him, and he was alive. Surely she could managed the same.  
  
Tommy was clutching her to his chest, rocking her in his arms like a child and weeping. Like everything Tommy did, there was no hint of weakness. His were tears of rage, he looked magnificent and violent. She felt her skin growing colder and colder and her eyes becoming heavy. With a long exhale she closed them and let herself feel and listen. Across the room she thought she heard Arthur’s mad howls and was certain he had apprehended the culprit. There wouldn’t be anything left for the police to identify, the Shelby brothers were destructive in their rage.  
  
In the distance was the wailing of sirens and she felt Tommy lift her body up in his arms and sprint towards the noise. The jostling hurt, everything hurt. Her back felt quite wet, as though she had been laid in a puddle. Her name on Tommy’s lips was the last thing she heard before sinking completely under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been with me from the beginning. Though I am sad that this has come to an end, I hold out hope that there might one day be a continuation.


End file.
